


The Grey

by justanotherunluckysoul



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bleeding Out, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherunluckysoul/pseuds/justanotherunluckysoul
Summary: A wounded brother and a snowstorm. Sam isn’t giving up. For Whumptober prompt #10 They Look So Pretty When They Bleed/trail of blood. (in which I throw out all attempts to string an actual plotline together)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	The Grey

**The Grey**

The snowscape is blinding him, further adding to his disorientation as ground blends into sky. One just as glaringly white as the other. Sam's hands tighten on him as he stumbles. Pain flares... everywhere and Dean groans, the sound thick in his throat.

"Stay with me, Dean," Sam says, "We're almost there."

He's been saying that for hours. Days. Minutes. It's probably minutes. Dean's lost track of time, awareness draining out of him along with the blood, making a terrible red pattern in the snow as Sam drags him onward. Their trail clearly marked for the enemy that’s almost certainly on their tail.

"Dean," Sam says insistently, and Dean realizes he's sinking lower in Sam's arms.

He struggles to pull his feet under him again. He lost the feeling in his legs long ago.

"Dean, please," Sam's voice breaks, desperate and scared, "Hold on. It's not much further."

Dean's numb fingers twists in Sam's jacket, willing himself to stay upright. For Sam's sake.

"'m tryin'," he mutters, the words slurred and as weak as he feels.

He can only fight his body's response to the injury for so long, and he knows he's reaching the end of that time. And by Sam's frightened tone, he's realizing the same thing. He tugs Dean forward, taking more and more of his brother's weight.

"Almost there, stay with me," he repeats as Dean staggers along beside him, a mantra of encouragement and a little fear.

Snow settles on the back of Dean's neck, melting and sliding under the collar of his jacket. His hand slips from where he's trying to keep his blood where it belongs. Snow crunches beneath his boots. He's drifting away. He can feel it in the panicked beat of his heart as it struggles to keep him alive, in the heaviness of his body. The way it's not really hurting anymore. It had been agony before. But now, he could lie down right now in the snow and just sleep. He wants nothing more. But Sam jostles him then, maybe deliberately, and shakes him from his thoughts. The pain sparks a little along with his awareness, a barely glowing ember on a dying fire. What he wouldn't give for a fire right now. He's so cold.

"Almost there."

The frigid air burns a cold path into his lungs. Freezing him from the inside out.

"Please, Dean."

Time is meaningless. His pulse thunders in his ears, under his skin. The white gives way to grey.

"Don't you dare do this to me."

Spitting anger close to his ear. Sam's voice twisted by hate. _Why are you angry with me, Sammy? What have I done?_

"Keep holding on to me. I'm getting you out of here."

Grim determination. Sam won’t give up. And there’s pressure against Dean’s wound, a hand that’s not his own, a fresh wave of pain threatening to pull Dean under. He fights to remain on the surface, the grey threatening to turn black. _I’m holding on, Sam._

**END**


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